Along my journey, I have learned a lot about taking care of a newborn (well, from day 1 to 10 anyway), and I want to list this down as a reminder for the future—if and when I have a second child. Hopefully by doing so, you’ll learn a trick or two as well. So here are the things that work, and those that don’t, and the things that are worth their bucks.
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It took me a while to accept my birth story as it is, as during those dark days, I was convinced that my baby was robbed of his chance to be born healthy, without complications, and without needing to suffer for a lack of food.
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The first shower after birth, they said, was the best shower you ever had. It was great, for sure. I was able to move normally, not even needing the bathing chair that was given for extra support, and I thought, naively, that probably this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
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Where to begin? I believe all women have their own birth stories, one that is usually not shared to those apart from close friends and families, and justly so—after all, it is private, and if you’re not a parent, you might need a medical degree to fully understand what mothers are going through.
Read more →To say that so much has happened in 2020 is an understatement. To say that it hasn’t felt real, like this still feels like a dream, is an understatement. To say that life seems to hit pause button, that’s everything is frozen, is an understatement.
Read more →Some people you remember for life, some people only in passing. Some leave their marks, some barely leave footprints. Some are gone too soon. – The last time I saw her, it was at a wedding. Mine, in fact. She …
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Hopefully you never have to call triple zero. Or 911. Or 112. Or whatever the emergency telephone number the country you’re in. Hopefully you never feel threatened that you are really considering calling the police.
I did.
It has been a tough few days, if I’m honest. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who would be calm, or at least I expect myself to, in regards to emergency type of situation. I’ve watched countless movies, read countless books. I’ve pictured myself as a hero in those dystopian stories—the one who would actually take chances. But when it’s happening right in front of you and your mind draws a blank, remember this above all else: do not freeze.
I froze.
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Last week, I attended a situational awareness training at my workplace on how to deal with upset, difficult, or aggressive customers, and the trainer was talking about empathy. I know that this doesn’t seem like it has anything to do with cooking, but hear me out.
He told us about his encounter with a stranger on a train with whom he felt a strong connection to. At that time, he was undergoing a really difficult time—his wife had just died. He was sitting on a train, reading newspaper, when a woman in front of him asked him whether he was divorced. There was a line on his finger where his wedding ring should be.
He told her that that he has been widowed for three months, and that he has three little children.
“So you know how difficult it is to be in the kitchen then,” she said to him. He was offended. Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean that I can’t cook, he thought.
“Oh, no, no,” the woman said, realising his face had changed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m referring to feeling the dread when entering the kitchen, thinking, What should I cook for dinner tonight?”
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Ever since I work in the library, I’ve met so many different people walking different paths of life.
It seems a bit surreal sometimes, of how different we all are, and how different are the lives we’re living—how different are the things we want in life.
Take those who work in the library for example. Almost everyone has a different story. One is currently studying, the other is a proud grandmother of three who’s filling her time as a casual. One, I find out, has always dreamed of becoming a librarian. Another comes into the job by accident, and yet he’s stayed on, year after year, for almost a decade.
One has a side business as a photographer. Another used to be a teacher, a banker, an economist.
One travels a lot, every chance he gets. The other has hardly ever left the country.
One thinks of the job as a bridge to the next thing. One really, really wants to be a permanent, and has been waiting for an opportunity ever since.
And that’s just the people working there. The patrons’ stories are even more diverse.
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When Tjok and I are getting our own house (in the near future, Amen), he’s promised me that he would get me my own library.
It’s probably not going to be as wonderful as Belle’s library, but I’d take anything that has more than three bookcases, hopefully with a ladder, and fill them with books.
You see, I’ve run out of spaces to put my books in our apartment since, well, since we first moved in. Most of my books are now stored in our basement storage space, and I make the pilgrimage to take out some books (and return some) once a month. Yet despite lacking the physical space to buy and store more books, this year I’ve been reading more than ever before. That’s because I’ve discovered a service that I’ve never really utilised before during my previous seven years in Melbourne: a local library.
It’s been slightly over a year since I’ve found out that I can borrow books, and even reserve the books that are still on order (so I get to be the first one reading that book before it’s being passed to dozens of other people) for free. So it’s only natural that sometime in August this year, I sent in my application to work as a library officer.
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